


Damage Sustained

by mbaline



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Seizures, Torture, no eroticized rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-08 10:06:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5493308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mbaline/pseuds/mbaline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The asset has four orders: </p>
<p>  <em>The asset must obey its handlers.</em></p>
<p>  <em>The asset must complete the mission.</em></p>
<p>  <em>If the asset sustains damage it must still complete the mission.</em></p>
<p>  <em>If someone fights you, you gotta fight back, Buck.</em><br/> <br/>The fourth order is not like the others. There is no memory attached to the fourth order. It is not something the asset was taught. It is just something that the asset knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My fill for a prompt on the hydratrashmeme, which you can find [ here ](http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/1504.html?thread=2326752&style=light#cmt2326752). My motivation kind of stalled in the last few weeks, so I'm making some edits and posting it here in the hopes that I'll get some of that motivation back. 
> 
> My hc is that this takes place after the WS has been transferred to the US, but before Pierce's time, although it's left pretty open so it's up to you how you want to interpret it! 
> 
> Blanket warnings for HYDRA horribleness and a complete lack of consent (or even the ability to consent). Let me know if the tags need updating to include anything more.

The asset has four orders:

_ The asset must obey its handlers. _

_ The asset must complete the mission. _

_ If the asset sustains damage it must still complete the mission. _

_ If someone fights you, you gotta fight back, Buck. _

The fourth order is not like the others. There is no memory attached to the fourth order. It is not something the asset was taught. It is just something that the asset knows. 

+++

If the asset does not follow the orders, he is punished. This is not the case for the fourth order. There is no punishment if the fourth order is not followed. But if the asset does not follow the fourth order, it is not -- it feels -- the asset always follows the fourth order. Even when it means that the punishment is worse.   

+++

The punishment goes like this:

They put the asset in a metal box so small he can’t move. Or they tie him down and pour water over his covered face. Or they order him to crouch down and be still for days. Or they kick him and beat him until their gloves tear and their sticks break.

Sometimes. Sometimes the punishment is different. Sometimes the asset is tied to a table and he’s face-down and they’re cutting away his clothes and their hands are all over him and then they--

The asset fights back. The handlers keep going.   

+++

Sometimes the asset follows the orders and the punishment comes anyway.

+++

The asset holds the target’s head down in the bath until they stop moving. That was the first part of the mission. Next he goes to the target’s office and retrieves the papers from the desk. That was the second part of the mission. Then he seals all but one of the exits and goes to the target’s kitchen and sets a fire. That was the third part of the mission.

The asset is walking towards the single unsealed exit when he steps on something. It crunches beneath his foot. He looks down and sees a small wooden train, cracked down the middle from the weight of his body. He kneels down and picks it up. There are printed words on the underside:  _ if lost, please return to --  _ the last word is handwritten and unintelligible; a language the asset does not know. He looks closer. The shapes form themselves into uneven letters the asset recognises. They spell a name.

The handwriting does not match the letters on the paper’s from the target’s desk. The name is not the target’s. This object does not belong to the target.

There is someone else in the house.

The asset kneels and carefully places the train back on the ground. He closes his eyes and listens to the noises in the house: his own slow heartbeat, the rush of water in the pipes, the crackle of the growing fire. He tunes it all out. It takes thirteen seconds for the asset to detect a fourth sound: another heartbeat. It is not like the target’s had been while they were under the water. Instead it is slightly faster and quieter than the asset’s own. It is the heartbeat of a sleeping body.

The asset walks down the corridor, following the noise. He stops at a door. There is a sign on it. The handwriting and the word match the letters on the train. The asset presses his hand to the door and listens; the sleeping body is inside.

The handlers had given the asset the mission in three parts. They did not mention a fourth. They did not mention this.

The asset touches his earpiece and speaks quietly.

“Mission complete.”

“Acknowledged, head to extraction point,” comes the handler’s reply.

The asset does not respond. This situation is not within his mission parameters. The asset does not have permission to stray from the list of designated mission phrase words:  _ mission complete, target eliminated, damage sustained, heading to extraction.  _

“Asset, confirm. Extraction point.  _ Now. _ ” The handler is using the voice that comes before punishment, or before the Chair, when the asset is no longer operating efficiently and needs to be fixed.

“There is another body. They are asleep,” the asset lists off the information. When the handlers give the asset a mission, they provide the details of the situation so that the asset knows how to proceed. “There was a wooden train. It had a sticker on it. It said--”

The handler cuts the asset off with a laugh. “Don’t worry about it, we knew about that already. Guy has a kid.” The handler is not laughing when he continues, “Now get to extraction.”

_ Guy has a kid.  _ The asset processes this information.  

“This was not in the mission,” the asset says, finally.

“You have eleven minutes to get to extraction.” The handler’s voice is like the moment before a burning cigarette touches skin.

The earpiece clicks off.

The asset must obey its handlers. But --  _ guy has a kid  _ \-- this information was not in the mission.

That is important.

The fire in the kitchen is growing stronger. The air is already thick with the smell of the smoke the fire is producing  Soon the flames will spread to the rest of the house. Eventually they will consume the entire building.

The body behind the door is still sleeping. The smoke will reach them soon. The fire will come later. The smoke might kill them. They could die in their sleep. It would be painless. But they might wake up. When the asset leaves the house and seals the last exit there will be no way out. They will not be able to escape. The fire will burn them alive.

The asset has been burned alive. It is not a memory. It is fact: the sensation of skin blackening, of flesh sloughing off bone. The damage had been very great. That is why the arm is metal. Metal does not burn.  

The asset opens the door and walks into the room. The body is sleeping on a bed in the centre of the room. They are curled up. They are very small.

The asset steps in close and crouches down beside them. Very gently he places his right hand against their throat, feeling the quiet pulse of blood. He moves the hand to the back of their neck. The hair touching his hand is very soft. The asset has never heard this word. But he touches the skin and the word appears in his mind:  _ soft _ .

The asset twists his hand. The delicate bones in their neck break easily in his hand.

The body’s pulse stops.

The asset stands and walks to the door. He opens it. The flames are at the end of the corridor. He has orders to get to extraction.

The asset turns and looks at the body. From here it looks like they are asleep. But the asset knows that they are not.

He leaves the house. He does not look back.

+++

The asset is seventy six seconds late for extraction.

For this, he will be punished.

The punishment goes like this:

The asset is strapped to the table. The handlers remove his clothing. A hand trails down the asset’s spine, lower, lower, and it feels -- damage sustained. The asset is sustaining damage.

There’s warm, wet, the taste of metal in his mouth: blood. The handler is moving between the asset’s legs and then --  _ damage sustained  _ \-- they move inside, into the open wound they have created.

No. Not a wound, but. It still bleeds like one.

+++

Put him on ice.

Defrosting procedure complete.  

This is the mission.

+++

The asset sets the charges in a public area. The target is almost in range when the asset notices another: a civilian, small, young, unarmed; threat level: zero. They are close enough that when the bomb goes off the explosion will sever their spine. The asset has orders to get to the extraction point. There is no time to alter the charges’ timer.  

The asset steps in front of the civilian. The charges detonate. A piece of shrapnel hits the asset in the lower abdomen. The explosion knocks him off his feet. When the smoke clears he sees the civilian getting to his feet, coughing, wiping the target’s blood from his face and his blond hair. He kept the civilian alive. The asset is -- the asset feels--

“Asset. Asset, report.”

“Target eliminated. Asset has sustained damage.” There is blood pooling under him. He looks down and sees slick pink intestines spilling out from his abdomen.

The handler curses. Four seconds pass, then: “Get to extraction point delta.”

The asset presses a hand to its lower abdomen. The flesh there is very warm.

“The damage is--”

“Now, asset. I don’t care if you have to fucking hold your guts in, get to extraction point delta.”

The asset does.

+++

The asset had disobeyed the initial order to head to the extraction point. The asset had jeopardised the mission. The asset had sustained damage.

The asset was going to be punished.  

Once the technicians have finished removing the shrapnel and sewing his abdomen closed, the asset is lead to the metal table. The restraints click into place. This is where the punishment happens.

The technicians leave and turn off the lights.

Four minutes later, the door opens. A single light switches on.

Three handlers circle around the table. They are speaking. The asset does not hear their words over the metallic rasp of zips being pulled down as the handlers move in closer. One of them cuts away the asset’s clothing. They undo the restraints one at a time and move him until the asset is on his hands and knees, the position pulling at the rows of stitches on his abdomen. The asset has orders to fight, but -- the asset is at a tactical disadvantage: damaged, restrained, arm powered down. If the asset disobeys an order the punishment is more severe, but when the asset is ordered to obey his handlers  _ and _ to fight back when they cause him damage, the conflict of orders is -- they are about to close the restraints around his flesh arm -- the asset does not --

The asset throws out his fist and catches a handler with a glancing blow to the chest. In an instant the second handler has the lightstick in his hand and presses it against the back of the asset’s skull, where the skin is thinnest. The lightstick has only one point of contact but the damage is everywhere: pure white light behind his eyes and down his spine, all the way down into his fingers and toes. When the lightstick is pulled away and the asset has stopped shaking, the second handler fastens the restraints around the asset’s twitching arm.

“Palm flat, asset,” commands the third handler.

The asset complies, pressing his hand to the metal table, fingers splayed. The third handler slams the blunt end of the lightstick down on the asset’s hand three times in quick succession. The bones shatter. The asset does not move. There is a noise trapped in the back of his throat. If the asset cries out, the punishment is more severe.     

A hand trails down the asset’s side, digging into the shallow wounds there. Another tugs at his hair and forces his jaw open. The third handler is standing behind the asset. They shove forward; there is blunt pressure, and then -- the asset is sustaining damage. The movement pushes the asset towards the man in front, who tightens his grip and then forces his way into the asset’s mouth. The first handler presses their palm to an open burn on the asset’s back. The asset does not flinch. The asset has sustained worse damage than this.

The man behind is moving in short sharp bursts. Their hand comes up and presses against the asset’s lower abdomen, right at the edge of the stitches. The handler in front moves forward, pushing the asset back. The motion causes the hand on his abdomen to slip, sharp nails digging into the stitches. Ten seconds later the stitches tear and the handler’s fingers slide into the wound.

Suddenly the handler behind him shoves the asset forwards and pulls out, cursing. The shove is simultaneous to the handler in front moving in, and the asset chokes, his throat working to prevent him from vomiting. The second handler tightens their grip on the asset’s hair and pulls free of his mouth. The asset slips in the blood pooling beneath him.

“What -- what the fuck is this,” the third handler swears, holding up a blood-slick hand.

The first handler moves their hand from the burn to the re-opened wound on the asset’s abdomen. Their thumb catches on the ragged edge of the wound. They tug; more stitches split.

The sensation is -- the asset rocks forward and vomits blood. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” yells the second handler, zipping up his pants and side-stepping the splatter of blood in front of him. “Call the technicians. They need to get their shit together and do their job properly.”

“Christ, what a mess,” the first handler says, pulling their hand free from the wound. They wipe their bloody fingers on the asset’s thigh.

The three handlers leave the asset on the table. Later, the technicians will re-stitch the wounds and clean the asset up. After that they will prepare him for cryo.

The punishment did not resume.

_ +++ _

Put him on ice.

Defrosting procedure complete.

This is the mission.

+++

A retired military general. He is heavily guarded. He is not the target. The mission is to send a message. The asset kills all twenty three of his guards.

He slides the knife out of the last guard’s jugular and stands. Now that the asset has completed the mission he has orders to report to his handlers.

He looks down at the knife in his hand.

Before, the asset had been punished for disobeying orders, jeopardising the mission, and sustaining damage. The asset had wilfully sustained damage in order to protect the civilian from harm. But if the asset sustains damage without affecting the completion of the mission --

The asset has followed orders. The mission has already been completed. If the asset sustains damage it will not compromise his ability to complete the mission.  

The asset flips the blade and drives it into his lower abdomen, dragging the knife across. The wound is deep, tearing through muscle, but despite the amount of blood pouring forth it is not fatal. The asset pauses; the current amount of damage sustained may not be sufficient. He closes his metal hand around his right wrist and tugs, feeling the bones snap under the pressure.

The asset reaches for his earpiece.

“Mission complete. Heading to extraction point.”  

+++

The handlers ask questions. The asset answers. When they ask about his injuries, the asset tells them that he sustained damage during the mission. This is not the truth. The asset has orders to obey his handlers, but the other order -  _ you gotta fight back, Bu- _ -

There are other ways to fight than with his body.   

The technicians set the bones in his wrist and stitch up his abdomen. They prepare him for cryo.

The asset is not punished.

+++

For five missions in a row, the asset completes the mission, and the asset sustains damage.

After the third mission, the technicians are finishing their own missions - stitching up the asset’s four bullet wounds, setting the broken bones in the asset’s lower leg - when the first handler enters the room. The asset looks at the floor; eye contact with handlers sometimes leads to punishment. A technician goes to the door and exchanges sharp words with the handler. The handler is not pleased. The asset tries to make himself small; when the handlers are not pleased they are more likely to find reasons for punishment.

Thirteen seconds later the handler leaves the room.

The technicians complete their missions. They lead the asset to the metal table. The restraints click into place. This is where the punishment happens.

The technicians turn off the lights and leave.

The asset waits for thirteen minutes - the longest it has ever between the technicians leaving and the handlers arriving - but no one comes.

The asset is not punished.

+++

After the fifth mission, after the technicians have treated the damage and decontaminated the asset and lead him to the metal table and fastened the restraints and turned off the lights and closed the door, after that:

The door opens.

The asset does not flinch. If it is the handlers, he will be punished for flinching.

The scrape of a chair. A body sitting.

There is a long silence.

“I didn’t know,” the man says softly. “I didn’t know what they were doing.”

The asset blinks. It is the technician. His voice is like -- a bone breaking.

“I’m going to report them. They won’t hurt you anymore.”

The asset can sustain damage in many ways. The handlers are only one of them. When the asset looks down his metal hand has clenched into a fist.

The asset turns away and closes his eyes.

**  
+++ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback/comments/constructive criticism are all really appreciated! <3
> 
> This fic was/is difficult to write -- it makes me feel weirdly guilty, and I'm constantly questioning exactly _why_ I'm writing it when it's so horrible, but at the same time I love to read hurt!Bucky and body horror and wanted to write the specific flavour of that that I wanted, and trying to write the Winter Soldier's perspective is a really interesting challenge.
> 
> I kind of wanted to explore the 'hurt' angle of HTP, and explore why post-WS might have a really complicated relationship with being touched -- admittedly I haven't read much HTP since a lot of the more explicit rape-related stuff kind of squicks me out when it's written in a porny way -- I can completely understand why people might be into that, it's just not really my thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For five missions in a row, the asset completes the mission, and the asset sustains damage. The asset is not punished. 
> 
> The sixth mission is in the mountains.

The sixth mission is in the mountains. 

There is a car. The asset shoots out the front tire and watches the car spin wildly before careening off the edge of the road and into a ravine. 

The asset does not need to confirm the target's death. No one can survive a fall from that height. 

The asset stops. 

Human bodies have limits. When the mission is to torture a target, sometimes there comes a point where the body reaches its limit and the target is eliminated. The target is -- dead. 

The asset can sustain a significant amount of damage before he stops being functional. When this happens, the technicians repair the damage and the asset becomes functional again. The extraction point is over two hours away. If the asset reaches the limit of damage he can sustain -- if the damage to the asset is not repaired -- 

The asset is not a human body, but. Even assets must have their limits.  

The asset has never surpassed this limit. If he does -- 

There will be no more punishment. And then, a knife twisting up through his ribs: there will be no more  _ missions _ .  

The asset touches the earpiece. 

“Mission complete. Heading to extraction point.” 

“Acknowledged,” says the handler, and then the earpiece goes silent. 

It is four steps to the edge of the cliff. The asset looks down. It is a long fall. There are jagged rocks. The damage will be very great. 

There is a sudden movement to his right, a flash of red white blue. The asset turns, knife in hand. There is nothing there. When he turns back to the cliff edge the ravine is gone; instead there is a train. The asset blinks once, and the train disappears. Again, on the edge of his vision: a person standing by his side. The asset knows that if he turns to look the person will be gone. This is a malfunction that happens sometimes. The asset does not tell the handlers. If he tells the handlers they will take it away. 

The handlers have taken so many things from the asset. This is not a memory. This is a fact. The asset knows that there are pieces missing. 

They will not take from the asset again. 

The asset jumps. 

+++

A noise tears through the asset’s throat when he hits the ground and his body shatters.

He tries to move and the noise comes out again. The asset will be punished for making noise, but -- there are no handlers here. 

On the next breath the noise slips out again. The asset does not try to stop it. Instead the asset attempts to assess the damage. 

When he inhales there is the sensation of the bones of his ribcage grinding against each other. His right lung has been punctured. There is a heavy pressure inside his chest and his abdomen; blood is filling his chest cavity, pooling around his ruptured internal organs. Soon it will compress the remaining lung. There is more blood in his mouth ears throat eyes. On his next breath the blood catches in his throat. He coughs wetly. The splatter of blood is very warm on his face. It drips down the sides of his damaged jaw. 

The asset attempts to move the metal arm - the only part of him that never feels damage. The arm does not respond, but the sensation of damage is enough to drag another ragged noise from the asset’s throat. The asset tilts his head -- black spots impair his vision for several long seconds -- enough to survey the damage to his abdomen and lower body. The place where the metal arm meets his torso is a twisted mess of wiring and exposed muscle. His left leg is visibly broken. Pieces of bone have pierced the skin. Blood is slowly spreading in the snow around the asset.

This is the most damage the asset has ever sustained. Already the effects of blood loss are beginning to dim his vision. His feet and hands are already numb, blood redirecting its path to his vital organs.

It still might not be enough. 

The bones of the asset’s femur are in pieces. It would take only one of these shards to compromise the femoral artery. That in itself will only reduce the asset’s functionality for thirty eight minutes. But in addition to the rest of the damage, the blood loss will be severe.

If the asset moves his leg enough then it is likely that a piece of bone will compromise the artery, but it'd probably be more efficient to use the knife in his boot, and he can’t use the one strapped to his left wrist because his left arm isn’t there anymore, and maybe he shouldn’t use a knife at all because what if they come back for him, what if St--

The asset blinks. There is no knife in his boot. His left arm is made of metal. The last piece of information is not so easy to dismiss:  _ what if they come back for him.  _ There is a sensation attached to this knowledge. A surge of warmth in his chest. The asset’s eyes are wet. 

The handlers will be coming for him. But --  _ what if they come back for him --  _ there is someone else. Someone else is coming. 

If the asset moves his leg and compromises the femoral artery, the damage will be very severe. Without immediate repair, he will cease to be functional. But if he is not functional, then --  _ what if they come back for him --  _ there will be nothing for them to find. 

This is a test.  

The asset lays his head back down.

The asset is -- the asset needs to wait. The asset knows this: someone is coming for him. The asset is supposed to wait. They will come. The knowledge is -- the asset feels -- the sensation is warm; not damage, but. Something else. It feels -- it is good.

The asset closes his eyes. Maybe when he opens them, this person will have found him. 

+++ 

The asset wakes up strapped to the metal table. 

+++

“--whatever it takes--”

“--keep it alive--”

Words sink into the asset’s skull like knives driven into his ears. There is blood there, impairing the asset’s hearing. He cannot open his eyes at all due to the blood on his face. The feeling of damage in his lower face and inside his head stops him from attempting to do so more than once. 

There are more words spoken above his head. It is the commander. The asset was found by the handlers. They brought him back to the table. They strapped him face-down. They removed his clothing. 

The damage was not sufficient. 

A gloved thumb drags down the side of the asset’s face and drags his eyelids apart. It must be the damage that makes him forget not to flinch - when he does the commander hits the side of the asset’s head with an open palm. The hit itself does not cause damage, but it is the same as the lightstick: lighting up all the damaged parts of him head chest arms legs feet. 

The hand goes to the asset’s blood-wet hair and tugs, pulling his head up at an angle to face the commander. The commander only comes in when the asset has been very bad. 

“Look at me, asset,” the commander orders. His voice is like the sharp edge of a blade. The asset is not supposed to make eye contact with the handlers. This is a test. 

When the asset does not comply the commander slams the asset’s face down against the metal table. Bone crunches. 

The asset complies. 

The commander tightens their grip on the asset’s hair and turns his head to the side, directing his gaze to the metal tray a few feet away. It is covered in the small metal weapons that the technicians use to treat the asset’s damage. Next to these are two needles.  

The first one prevents the asset from moving. The technicians can carry out their missions more efficiently when the asset doesn’t move. The second needle is more rare. It is for when the damage is very severe. The second needle is like -- when they put the asset in the metal box and the asset is sustaining damage and then ice begins to close in and the damage fades. The second needle is like blunting a knife.  

There are two needles on the tray next to the asset. A technician reaches for one of them. 

“No,” says the commander. “Not that one.”

The technician protests. “But--” 

“It needs to know.”

A pause. Then the technician is reaching for the other needle. 

There is a gloved hand on the asset’s neck, and then the small damage of the needle piercing the skin. 

“The asset has been disobeying orders,” the commander says, turning the asset’s head back to face them. “The asset said that it was sustaining damage during its missions. Is that correct?” 

The asset does not speak. Sometimes the handlers ask questions that do not require an answer. The commander puts a thumb on the asset’s chin, pressing down until the broken pieces of the asset’s jaw grind together. 

“Answer me, asset,” the commander orders. 

“Damage sustained,” the asset attempts to say, but the needle is already taking effect, and then the only thing that comes out of his mouth is blood. It blocks his airway; when he tries to inhale he chokes on it, but he cannot move his mouth to expel it. Blackness begins to bleed into his vision. The machines the asset is connected to begin to make noise. It sounds very distant. 

“Sir?” says a technician out of the asset’s view. “We need to start now.”

“Go ahead,” the commander replies, and then they say something else, but the asset cannot process it over the sensation of damage as the technicians release the restraints and roll him on to his back before clicking them closed again. There is a strong chemical smell, and then the sensation of liquid poured on the asset’s damaged skin. Gloved hands pry open his mouth and push a plastic tube down his throat. The asset cannot flinch away. The asset cannot move.

A cold scalpel trails down the inside of his shattered thigh, and then slices in. There is another scalpel at his side, cutting between his ribs, and when the commander steps back and lets the asset’s head drop, two more technicians step forward. Gloved fingers pry open his mouth, and then, navigating around the tube, a scalpel is cutting into the flesh below his lower teeth. There are more incisions being made across the asset’s abdomen, at his shoulder, below his right knee. The technicians are repairing the damage. In order to do this they have to cause more damage first. The asset does not need to try not to move because the needle does that for him. 

“I know what the asset was trying to do,” says the commander. The asset tries to focus on their voice. “The last four missions, when the asset came back damaged, I suspected something. And then, after the fifth mission,” the commander’s voice changes; a knife sharpening ,”when Dr Berkov reported to me, I realised what was going on.”

“So on this last mission,” the commander continues, as a technician presses something plastic against the incision in the asset’s ribs, presses until it slides  _ in in in  _ and the damage is very great but the pressure in the asset’s chest begins to ease as the blood drains out, “I had a team follow the asset. Does it know what they saw?” 

The asset cannot move his mouth to answer.

“They saw the asset jump.”

The commander’s words coincide with the sensation of a scalpel scraping against bone, gloved fingers prying apart the ragged flesh at the asset’s left shoulder, followed by an intense heat and the stench of burning flesh, and then -- circuitry connected deep within the asset’s abdomen pulls free, with the slick noise of flesh tearing. Something heavy and metallic hits the ground. The asset cannot make a noise.

“The asset lied to the handlers. The asset disobeyed the handler’s orders to head to extraction. The asset compromised it’s ability to complete future missions.”

The light above the asset’s head is very bright. The technicians are using it to see the extent of the asset’s damage. The light is like a very small knife sinking into the asset’s eye-sockets. The asset cannot close his eyes. 

The technicians finish putting metal into the asset’s jaw. When they relocate to a different site of damage, the commander moves from their fixed position at the edge of the room to stand behind the asset’s head. One gloved hand presses against the asset’s hair. The other covers his eyes, shielding them from the light and the damage it causes.   

The commander leans in very close. The asset can feel their lips brushing against the side of his face.

“What happens when the asset disobeys orders?” the commander says quietly.

This is a question. The asset cannot answer.  

“Speak,” orders the commander.

The asset must not disobey a handler, but the needle -- the commander saw the needle, the commander must know that the asset cannot move -- but the asset has already disobeyed multiple orders --

The asset moves his mouth. There is no sound.

“Try again,” the commander orders.

The asset makes another attempt: “Punishment.” It is barely louder than an exhale. Blood drips from the corner of his mouth. The commander's thumb smears it into the asset’s cheek.

“We don’t enjoy this. We don’t enjoy punishing the asset. If the asset had followed orders, we wouldn’t have to.”

The commander pauses. Then, another question: “What caused the punishment?”

“The asset did,” the asset answers.

The asset’s eyelids twitch. Soon he will be able to blink. The needle is becoming less effective.    

“Does the asset deserve to be punished?”

The asset did not obey the handler’s orders. The asset compromised his ability to complete the mission. The asset lied to the handlers. The asset did this on multiple occasions.

“Yes,” says the asset. 

The commander steps back, away from the asset.

“Finish up,” they command. “You have ten minutes, and then I want the room cleared.”

“The femur still needs metal implantation,” says a technician from near the asset’s feet.

“Ten minutes,” the commander repeats.  

A technician reaches for another needle on the tray. The previous one is no longer effective.

“No,” says the commander. “None at all.”

There is the sound of the restraints being moved. The sensation of leather against the asset’s leg lasts for less than a second before being removed again.

“No restraints either,” the commander commands.

“But we’ve never--“

The commander moves to stand behind the asset’s head, gloved hand against the asset’s cheek.

“Hold still,” the commander orders, and then moves to the exit. 

“Oh, and Dr Kezler?” the commander pauses at the door. ”Dr Berkov is no longer with us. You’ve been promoted. Congratulations.” The commander  leaves. 

The noise of a drill starts up near the asset’s leg.   

The asset holds still.

+++

Six hundred and seventeen seconds after the commander left the room, the technicians finish up their missions and exit the room, switching off the light. The asset is left on the table.

The technicians have repaired the damage and removed the tube from the asset’s throat. The asset has orders to hold still. The asset does not require visual confirmation of the repairs to know that there is metal embedded in his left femur, holding the shattered pieces of bone together, more metal in his jaw to align the ragged ends of bone, plastic tubing in his side to drain the fluid in his chest, rows of stitches on his abdomen where the technicians reached inside to expose the ruptured organs. Maybe they removed them entirely, replaced them with metal. 

The metal parts of the asset are the hardest to damage. The arm is gone. The arm was not damaged. It was the flesh around it that gave way. Maybe next time the technicians will replace the bones and skin there with metal. Maybe next time the asset will wake up and his entire body will be made of metal.  That way the asset will be less likely to sustain damage. And if damage is sustained, the asset’s functionality will not be compromised. The asset will be more efficient. The metal does not feel damage.    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait between chapters. Feedback is really appreciated, and really helps to motivate me to write more - I mean, I've been writing regardless of that fact, but it's really encouraging to know that someone's actually reading it :) 
> 
> Sidenote: made some changes from the way I posted this in the original prompt meme; here, the asset calls the 'main' handler the commander, for two reasons: 1. for clarity, i.e to differentiate between the 'main' handler and the rest of the handlers, and 2. to make the structure/hierarchy within HYDRA more explicitly clear. Additionally, while I headcanon this commander as being a predecessor (not necessarily immediate) to Pierce, at this stage in the fic it is fully open to interpretation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The punishment is usually carried out by three handlers. Sometimes four, sometimes two. On one occasion there were six. That punishment had been very severe.
> 
> The commander enters the room, holding the door open for others to enter.
> 
> There are a lot more than six.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the updated tags.

The punishment is usually carried out by three handlers. Sometimes four, sometimes two. On one occasion there were six. That punishment had been very severe.

The commander enters the room, holding the door open for others to enter.

There are a lot more than six.

The asset cannot turn his head to look. From the sounds of the room he determines that there are approximately seventeen handlers in the room; the distant tap of boots in the corridor signals the arrival of further reinforcements.  

The asset stares straight ahead as gloved hands manoeuvre him onto his front. The tubing in his side pulls tight against the skin around it until a handler moves the connecting machine around the table to the correct side. The gloved hands on the asset’s skin do not pull away.

“You have your orders,” says the commander, voice loud in the quiet room.

“Order through pain,” respond the other handlers in unison.

The commander moves across the room and crouches down in front of the asset. The single light bulb hanging down from the ceiling casts parts of their face into heavy shadow. Their eyes are level with the asset. The asset must hold still. He must not look away.

“The asset has a new order: the asset must not sustain damage unless ordered by a handler.”  

The asset must confirm the order. The asset must confirm the order. But -- _you gotta fight back--_ -

The asset remains silent.  

After a few long seconds, the commander stands up and steps back.

The rest of the handlers step forward. The gloved hands on the asset’s skin tighten to the point of damage. Two hands slide up the inside of the asset’s thigh, snagging on the stitching there. The fingers of one hand slide up further, push in. The glove’s fabric is coarse. Blood drips down the asset’s thigh.

The other hands are everywhere, pressing against the dark bruising on his side until ribs grind together, digging into the mess of his left shoulder, the stitches on his abdomen, his leg, his jaw. The handler behind removes their fingers and replaces it with something thicker, tearing the wound wider, slicking the way with blood. Handlers in front press at the asset’s jaw until the sensation of damage forces him to gasp for air. Gloved fingers press into his mouth, holding it open for a handler to press inside. Something hits the back of the asset’s throat and he chokes, can’t breathe past the blood in his nose and the intrusion in his mouth and -- _you gotta fight --_ the asset bites down, blood filling his mouth. 

The handler yells and tries to pull away and there are gloves pulling at the asset’s shoulders and pressing down on his broken ribs but he’s not letting go -- he’s not --

In the split second before the hands pull away the asset registers the noise of electricity, and then the lightstick is pressing against the mess of his shoulder and the asset doesn't register anything at all, can’t process anything beyond the white light sparking down his spine into his legs his toes up into his head his shoulders his arm that isn’t even there anymore. By the time the lightstick pulls away, he can smell burning flesh; the asset would gasp at the reprieve but the handler is still in his mouth and then the lightstick connects again, pressing right where the bruising is darkest, electricity wrapping around the asset’s ribs, coiling around vertebrae, ensnaring bone flesh skin, every muscle like a garrotte wire pulled too tight. The lightstick pulls away -- the click of the charge being set to the highest setting, and then the white light is pressing at the back of his skull and the damage is a tide rolling over him he’s drowning in it it’s crushing him taking him apart pressure pushing him down down down--

The wire snaps.

The asset’s eyes roll into the back of his head and his spine arches and the lightstick pulls away but the asset continues to shake and shake and shake, body beyond his control and he can’t see can’t hear can’t breathe and the shaking doesn't stop, will never end and _damage sustained damage sustained damage sustained --_

_+++_

The asset regains awareness slowly. His face is pressed against the table. He relaxes his tensed jaw; blood and pieces of flesh slide over his lips. His body is still shaking all over. Someone is screaming -- the handler that was in his mouth, now on the ground, being dragged from the room, smears of blood all over the floor. The handler that was behind him doesn't scream at all. Their body is still as other handlers drag them from the room.

Gloved fingers hold the asset’s mouth open, press something inside, hook it behind the asset’s teeth and fasten the connecting straps at the back of the asset’s head. The edges of it cut at the corners of the asset’s mouth, the spikes on the sides close to impaling his cheeks. It tastes of metal. The asset tries to bite down, but nothing happens except the bright sparks of damage as the broken edges of bone in his jaw grind together.   

“Anders and Broznik did not follow mission protocol,” says the commander. “The asset sustained damage because of their failings. They had their orders, and they did not follow them.”

“Order through pain,” comes the chorused response.

The handlers crowd in close. The asset can feel the warmth of their breath on his skin. The asset does not move. A gloved hand takes hold of one of the exposed metal rods in the asset’s leg and _twists_. The asset does not move. There is pressure, the sensation of damage as something pushes inside. The asset does not move.

And then -- more hands on his legs, spreading them apart, almost to the point of causing damage. The warmth of another handler behind him, driving themselves in, and then -- more pressure, right on the raw damage where the first handler already is, and then -- _damage sustained_ \-- the second handler pushes forward, pushes in, flesh is tearing, they’re tearing the asset in half.

The asset screams. He is not supposed to. The noise comes out anyway.    

Handlers crowd in front of him, pants unzipped. Gloved fingers grip at his jaw, drawing him forward as they push into his mouth, through the metal ring strapped there. They hit the back of his throat, the sensation making him gag and he can barely breathe past the blood in his cracked nose, each inhalation sending white sparks up behind his eyes. After a few thrusts the handler pulls free, spurting hot fluid over the asset’s face, and the asset has barely a moment to draw a sharp breath before another handler is pressing in. Gloved hands tug at his hair, the metal in his leg, the tube in his side, fingers tracing the rows of stitches on his back and shoulder and thighs,  pressing at the bruising all over him and digging into the ragged burn marks on his skin; small flashes of damage all over, insignificant compared to the damage between his legs.

Sometimes during punishments the asset closes his eyes and goes away inside, and when he comes back the punishment is over and he only needs to wait for the damage to recover. He attempts that now, slipping under, away from his body and what they’re doing to it, but the moment his eyes close a gloved hand clamps down on his nose, squeezing tightly, and the sudden shock of damage drags him back to the surface, choking, unable to breathe past the hand over his nose and the intrusion in his mouth. Just as the blackness is about to fill his vision, the hand loosens its hold enough for him to inhale, dragging air past the newly-damaged tissue in his nose.  

He tries twice more over the next hour, as handler after handler pushes their way inside, and each time they drag him back, until finally, the realisation: he cannot go away inside like he has done before.

He can only wait for it to be over.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, and for the shortness of the chapter -- more to come soon, but this felt like the best place to split it up. Feedback/comments are really appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The commander holds up their hand and speaks quietly.
> 
> “Enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the warnings.

It doesn’t end.

The asset has lost count of the handlers in front, of the handlers behind, of the time that has passed. After the fourth hour the minutes all begin to bleed together: the punishment doesn’t stop. The door opens and closes endlessly: handlers entering and exiting the room, over and over again. The asset does not see their faces.

Over the hours, the flesh at the corners of his mouth has torn deeply, lips splitting from being stretched for too long, the stitches on the inside of his mouth long since ripped open. The metal in his thigh has twisted out of alignment, along with the bones in his jaw and shoulder. The flesh between his legs is so raw that every touch is like a flame pressed to skin. With every movement of the handler behind, the asset feels the slick wetness of blood and the fluid of many handlers dripping down his thighs. There’s more on his torso, smeared all over his face, the flesh in his throat and inside him torn up from the constant friction.

The asset has long since adjusted to the rhythm of the punishment: his nose is damaged so badly that his only opportunity to draw a full breath is between the handler pulling free and the next pushing in. Sometimes the handlers ruin this by spurting in the asset’s mouth as they move back; the asset has lost track of the number of times he has choked, unable to breathe, slipping into the grey haze of near-unconsciousness. When that happens, awareness comes back too quickly. When he regains it, the handlers are still pushing in. They don’t stop. They don’t stop.

Through it all, the commander remains in the corner of the room. Sometimes their voice cuts through the slick noise of flesh against flesh and the heavy panting of the handlers and the loud pounding thrum as the asset’s heart tries to claw its way out through his chest cavity. The commander says, “The asset has a new order: the asset must not sustain damage unless ordered by a handler.”

The first time the commander speaks is so unexpected that the asset does not react at all, still trying to process their words before the next handlers push in and then the asset cannot process anything at all beyond  _ damage sustained _ . By the third time the asset has managed to formulate the answer --  _ confirmed  _ \-- but it is after the fourth time that the asset realises that there is insufficient opportunity to respond.

The asset must confirm the order. If the asset confirms the order the punishment will stop. The metal piece between his teeth and the handlers pushing into his mouth prevent him from speaking, and the time between a handler pulling out and the next pushing in does not give the asset enough time to confirm the order. Even if that were not the case, the asset’s throat and mouth are so torn that he may not be able to speak at all.

After the commander speaks for the twelfth time, the asset loses count. It does not matter. He cannot confirm the order.

+++

The commander holds up their hand and speaks quietly.

“Enough.”

The rest of the handlers react instantly, stepping back, away from the asset. The ones inside him pull free, remove their grip on his hips, let his head drop to the table. They zip their pants, and exit the room one by one.

The spikes on the sides of the metal piece in his mouth have scraped deep grooves in the skin on both sides of the asset’s mouth. When the handlers let the asset’s head drop to the table, one of the spikes finally drove itself through the asset’s cheek. Blood is filling his mouth. He does not have the energy to remove it. It drips slowly over his teeth.

There are footsteps. The commander is moving towards the table. The asset cannot turn his head to look. The asset cannot move at all. There was no needle, this time. Maybe now the technicians will be called in to work on the asset. To peel away the flesh, replace it with metal. They won’t need to use the needle. The asset cannot move.

A hand presses against the nape of the asset’s neck. It has been many hours since the asset lost the energy to flinch away from damage. This touch is different, however: the commander is not wearing gloves. Their hands are -- soft. They are not causing damage.

There is a quiet click, and the straps holding the metal piece to the asset’s face loosen. The commander holds the asset’s chin in one hand, tilting his head up, and with the other they carefully ease the spike from the asset’s cheek and the metal piece from between the asset’s teeth. The sound of metal hitting the floor is distant. The muscles of the asset’s face have been locked in position for so long that he cannot close his mouth. Blood bubbles from the hole in his face, trickling down the crooked line of his jaw.

Something presses against his cheek. If it is the commander, if the punishment is not over -- ~~_fight back_~~ \-- the asset tries to open his mouth, pushing down the sensation of his torn lips tearing further. But it is not glove, or skin: it is cloth.

The commander tilts the asset’s head and swipes the cloth over the asset’s cheek, nose, jaw, the corners of his mouth. The cloth is damp. The commander not causing damage.

“Close your eyes,” commands the commander. The asset complies. The cloth leaves his skin, then: the sound of sloshing liquid, of fabric being twisted. The newly-damp cloth brushes along his temple, under his brow, over his eyelids. The grip on the asset’s chin lowers his face to the table and lets go. The cloth moves away from his face, to his shoulders, his back, moving across his skin in slow circles, slower still around the worst of the damage. The liquid sloshes three times more - the commander is very thorough.

The cloth moves down the asset's spine, then lower, lower, to where the damage is worst, avoiding the patches of raw skin and wiping away blood and fluid. The realisation comes suddenly, a bullet from a gun: the commander is  _ cleaning _ the asset. The asset cannot flinch away -- the commander is -- this is the technician’s job. When the technicians clean the asset the water is cold and the asset stands against the wall and does not move even when the water strips off skin. But the water the commander is using is warm and the press of cloth against the asset’s skin is soft and the touch does not cause damage and it isn’t -- it isn’t --  

The asset shudders. His eyes are wet.

After several minutes the commander puts the cloth down and steps away from the asset, walking back across the room. The sound of their shoes against the floor is very loud. The commander stops in front of the asset. They rest their hand on the asset’s chin and tilt his face upward.    

The commander repeats a final time: “The asset must not sustain damage unless ordered by a commander.”

“Confirmed,” whispers the asset, and then twice more, in case the commander did not hear the first time. Blood dribbles from the hole in his cheek.

“Good,” says the commander. Their hand strokes over the asset’s hair. “That’s very good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Bucky. 
> 
> Feedback and comments are really appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The asset closes his new hand into a fist, tightening it until the seam where flesh meets metal begins to tear. Blood slides over his skin, pooling in the hollow of the remains of his collarbone. 
> 
> It is very warm. It is the only warmth that the asset knows.

The next time the asset’s eyes blink open the the handler is gone and there are masked technicians standing over him, around him. He is lying on his back. A technician is making sure the asset is strapped down securely. The second is lining up the small metal weapons on a tray beside the table. The asset closes his eyes again. His heartbeat is slow. The technicians are talking. The asset listens. 

“-- said not to do that.”

“He’s not the one that’s attaching a new arm to this thing. Last time it crushed a windpipe. The straps are going on.”

“...I don't think--”

“You're new here; still getting used to how things are. That's okay, that's fine. You heard about Dr Berkov, right?" 

"We shouldn’t be talking about this."

“Like this thing is going to go around telling everyone our secrets. Now: Dr Berkov.”

“I heard.”

"Then you know what happens if you don’t follow orders. He should’ve known better than to speak up. He knew what this job involved. The things we would have to do.”

“But it’s our job to keep the asset functional. And they were--”

“The best way to think of it,” the older technician says slowly,” is as training. As a test of their commitment to HYDRA. Order can only come from destruction, chaos, pain. It can be difficult to -- understand, especially for the new ones. So you show them this," he gestures to the asset's body, strapped to the metal table," HYDRA's weapon, the agent of our plans, and then you show them how it was created - order through pain - and then you _teach_ them how." 

“It isn’t--”

"Right? Fair? HYDRA doesn't operate on those terms. You'll learn, eventually; they use what they have to in order to keep it under control: pain. And the asset was created to endure. It can live through anything. _Christ_ , you saw how it looked two days ago; no human could’ve survived that. So it doesn’t matter what they do to it. It can’t die. Now are those straps secure or not?”

A gloved finger traces the edge of the strap across the asset’s chest, fastened tightly enough to bruise. 

“They’re secure.” 

“Then let’s get started.”

The saw starts up: a sharp metallic scream that goes on and on and on. The asset lies still. 

+++

When the asset blinks he is in complete darkness. He closed his eyes on the metal table, and when he opened them he was here; the in-between is an empty space. 

There are machines beeping, signalling the asset's functionality. He is still in the lab. The lights are off. He is alone. He does not need to move to know that the straps are still in place, still holding him tightly. The arm is different: the weight of it pulls at the asset's chest, even lying prone; it is significantly heavier than the previous one, "but stronger, too", the technician had said, "though it'll probably need some ribs reinforced, maybe replaced. We'll see how it goes." 

Halfway through the procedure, one of the technicians had leaned forward, their gloved fingers tapping at the asset's chin, the pressure pulling at the ruined edges of the asset's mouth. The asset had been making noise. The asset understood: the handler was touching him; this was an order. The asset had opened his mouth. 

The technician had slid the rubber mouth-guard over the asset's tongue, settling it over his teeth. The mouth-guard was like the needle: the asset does not need to suppress the noise because the mouth-guard does that for him. The technician was helping the asset comply with the orders. 

The mouth-guard is still in place. The technicians did not remove it when they left. The asset runs his tongue over it, feeling the indentations where his teeth have cut into the rubber. The rubber tastes faintly of metal, of blood. 

The asset has been on this table before, and will be on this table again. This is something that the asset knows, the same way that he'd known, lying damaged in the mountains, that -- that -- someone was coming for him. 

But it was the handlers who found the asset, the handlers who repaired the damage, the handlers who pushed themselves into him, who touched him gently, who wiped away the asset's filth. 

The asset waited, and the person did not come. The asset had been sure -- the asset had been so _sure_ \-- but instead they left the asset behind. Maybe, once, they did come for the asset, and they saw what the asset had done, and they turned away.

It does not matter. 

No one is coming for the asset. 

The asset makes a noise. The mouth-guard keeps it hidden away in the back of his throat. 

The asset closes his new hand into a fist, tightening it until the seam where flesh meets metal begins to tear. Blood slides over his skin, pooling in the hollow of the remains of his collarbone. 

It is very warm. It is the only warmth that the asset knows.

+++

Put it on ice. 

Defrosting procedure complete. 

This is the mission. 

+++

The asset was forty seven seconds late to the extraction point. 

Later, the asset was punished. 

The asset did not fight back. 

+++

Put it on ice. 

Defrosting procedure complete. 

This is the mission. 

+++

During the defrosting procedure the asset lies on the metal table. It is -- cold. The seam where arm meets body is coldest. The technicians insert plastic tubes into the asset’s body. The asset vomits. The technicians decontaminate the asset. The asset stands still. The technicians punish the asset. The asset doesn’t move. 

+++

Put it on ice. 

Defrosting procedure complete. 

This is the mission. 

+++

The mission is complete. The asset needs to head to extraction. 

“Come here,” says the handler. The asset will be late to extraction. The handler has given an order. 

The asset walks to the handler. The handler leads the asset into an alley, pushes the asset to the ground, grips the asset’s hair tightly: this is an order. The asset opens his mouth. The handler doesn’t speak as they slide in, fingers ripping at the asset’s hair as they drag him back and forth. 

The asset is late to extraction. The asset is punished. 

+++

Put it on ice. 

Defrosting procedure complete. 

This is the mission. 

+++ 

Put it on ice. 

Defrosting procedure complete. 

This is the mission. 

+++

Put it on ice. 

Defrosting procedure complete. 

This is the mission. 

+++

The asset is pulled from the tank and strapped down on the metal table, shaking all over as he returns to being functional and gasping wetly as the ice clears from his lungs.

"This is him?" Dimly, the asset registers a voice, speaking in hushed tones.

"Yes, sir. The defrosting procedure began thirty minutes ago. It'll be a few hours before it can understand your orders."

A gloved hand pulls at the asset's eyelid. The harsh light is a knife stabbing deep into the asset's skull. Fluid bubbles up from the asset's lungs. The asset vomits wetly, choking.

Deft fingers undo the restraints and roll the asset on to his side. 

"Sir, you shouldn't--"

"That will be all, doctor. You can leave now," says the voice from beside the asset's head. Footsteps, and a door opening and closing: the technician is gone.

A damp cloth wipes at the asset's mouth and neck. A warm hand traces patterns on the asset's back, slow and gentle. The asset does not have the energy to shudder. He vomits again, stringy blood this time as his organs slowly unfreeze.

"Shhhh," says the voice, easing the asset's hair away from his face, patting at the asset's back to clear the fluid from his mouth. "You're okay. You're okay, just get it out."

The asset forces his eyes to open. The retinas are still repairing themselves; through the blur the asset sees the shape of a man: blonde hair, blue eyes, square jaw.

"Get some rest," says the voice. This must be a handler, and they are touching the asset: this is an order.

The asset closes his eyes. The handler's fingers are very warm. 

+++

"Wake up, Soldier," says the handler.

The asset opens his eyes. The ice is gone. He is warm. There is a weight against the asset's side: a hand, still moving gently across the asset's skin.

The handler is sat on a chair next to the metal table.

"Do you know who I am?" says the handler, pulling back his hand. 

The asset blinks.

"My name is Alexander Pierce. I'm your new commander."

Alexander Pierce smiles. His eyes are very blue.

"We're going to do great things together, Soldier."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand that's it, folks. 
> 
> I had plans to take this up to (and past) CA:TWS, but I pretty much lost all motivation to write any more and honestly, this was not a fun experience to write - I learnt a lot while doing it, and I feel like it was useful in terms of writing practice, but it was never the kind of fic where I was enjoying myself while writing, unlike writing non-htp fic. 
> 
> I considered orphan-ing it, or just leaving it, but I wasn't happy with the idea of leaving it permanently unfinished, so: here's the last bit I wrote. I also wrote a little scene of Pierce whipping Bucky bloody, based on [this](http://silicadaisy.tumblr.com/post/126616845813/you-know-what-this-dumpster-doesnt-have-bucky) fanart, but it's only like 180 words and didn't fit with the ending of this, so it didn't feel worth posting. 
> 
> Sorry to end this on such a low note. Hope y'all liked the fic.


End file.
